Ruined For Marriage
by Tiny Octopus
Summary: A pair of assassins get involved with the Vongola, and one becomes particularly involved with the leader of the Varia squad. XanxusXOC. Also on A03.
1. Chapter 1

Life was refreshingly uncomplicated for Soko.

Some might say that life as a mercenary was horribly complicated, full of political intrigue and staying on your toes and outwitting all of the other mercenaries who were anywhere near as good as you. There were no mistakes; missed and wasted shots could cost you your life. You had to be aware at all times, looking for all possible exits the moment you walked into any building in case that was the day that an old enemy decided to get even and set you up.

These people, Soko decided, were simply not cut out to be mercenaries. You could take or leave the politics, she knew from personal experience. Nobody made you care about your targets or the motivations of your employers. Don't ask questions and don't get answers. She was aware, too, all the time, but she also knew how to stop and smell the roses, because she didn't worry that every little old lady at the street corner secretly had a gun in their purse and was just waiting for her to get a little closer.

No, Soko didn't worry about it, because she expected it, and regardless of whether or not they had a gun, she did.

And as for skill, there was no question that Soko was one of the best in the business. If you weren't, you either faded into obscurity or died. Interestingly enough, mercenaries tended to hope for the latter. All hit men die anonymous deaths covered up by wealthy men, but dying at a comfortable old age because you didn't kill well enough was an insult to the profession. Even Soko fantasized about living well into her seventies, only for an old foe to break in and put a bullet between her eyes. That was the way to go, she thought, having lived carefully enough to live that long but having made enough enemies that someone eventually comes knocking.

Toko, her partner, disagreed, but Toko was a little different anyway. Toko, who had come up with their codename "Belladonna," seemed on the surface to be the wrong kind of person to be a hit man. She was soft-spoken, gentle, motherly, and above all, disliked bloodshed. Soko knew better, though. Toko was more complicated than that, which is why they were working together in the first place. She'd always claimed that making enemies was her least favorite part of the job, but Soko couldn't fathom why.

Enemies were good. Enemies meant you did your job so well that somebody hated you. So when they were approached by a sharp-dressing, fedora-wearing man who walked like an assassin and talked of assimilation into a family for protection, Soko was confused.

The proposal went something like this; The Vongola were at the top of the Underworld, so close to the light that the police tended to look the other way when they were involved, and only half out of fear. They had a history of sporadic alliances, suddenly reaching out to another family or upstart group with promises of protection in exchange for absolute loyalty, and then going silent for a few years. This stranger claimed to have come to them on behalf of the tenth generation boss who supposedly had noticed Belladonna's work and wanted them to become part of the family. To have the Vongola interested was flattering, though the fact that the Vongola hit man knew their identity already was worrisome. Soko searched in her memory for somewhere she must have messed up and came up empty, which could only mean that she hadn't made a mistake—he was simply better.

"Operating independently has its downsides," he said smoothly looking quite relaxed as he leaned against the door, though Soko knew he was on his guard. Toko knew, too; it was why she was keeping distance between them, sitting back on the couch with her feet stretched in front of her in case she needed to flip to coffee table. Soko lounged next to her and tried to be discreet when she eyed him for weapons, though it was impossible to tell just by looking if someone was armed if the weapon was hidden. She couldn't imagine he'd walked into an assassin's apartment unarmed.

"Should you get set up, or find yourself outnumbered, your options are limited," he continued, "There's no one to turn to if you're in over your head. You can't afford to make any mistakes."

"We have made no mistakes so far," Soko said, earning a smirk. She wasn't sure if he was smirking at her declaration or her manner of speaking; her Italian wasn't very good. Toko was the better of the two when it came to that.

"As much as we like to pretend it isn't so, we're only human. I'm not questioning your talent; I wouldn't be here if that were up for debate."

"If we become part of the Vongola," Toko said quietly, and he turned his attention to her, "Then we will be dissolved, correct?"

He paused before answering. "Yes. You will have to remove your name from listings, and will only take the jobs you're provided with from the Tenth."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we're interested." Soko was surprised by her partner's sudden refusal, but she continued, "However, I believe an alliance wouldn't be out of the question."

The hit man tilted his head curiously. "Elaborate."

"We retain our codename and partnership," Toko said, "But we will remove the name from the listings, and instead, you will hire us."

"Ah." The shadow of his fedora hid his eyes, though Soko thought they must have narrowed. "A business woman, I see. In that case, I will have to discuss your terms with the Tenth." Tilting his hat, he turned, opened the door, said, "We'll be in touch," and was gone.

Toko relaxed as soon as the door slid shut behind him, closing her eyes and letting out the breath she'd been holding. "What was that about?" Soko asked, switching to Japanese, and her partner opened one eye to look at her.

"Did you want to join?"

"No."

"Then what are you asking for?"

Soko shrugged. "You made a big deal out of our partnership. You could have just said you'd rather Vongola hires us to do their dirty work."

"It matters to me. I wanted to make sure he was aware of that." Standing, Toko stretched her arms over her head. "I'm getting tired." This she said in English, Toko's way of telling her that the matter was personal rather than business.

"Then go to bed."

"I'm always tired," she said, staring into Soko's eyes purposefully. "I think about quitting a lot."

Soko frowned. "We've already talked about this," she said, "You can't quit. Lifetime employment. You work till you die."

"Don't remind me," Toko said, waving a hand passively and yawning. "Wouldn't that be interesting, though? Working for Vongola?"

Soko rolled her eyes and stood from the couch, heading for her bedroom. "Sounds like a blast."

"Soko."

She stopped. Toko was smiling.

"Do you ever think about it? Quitting?"

She didn't like this about Toko. Toko on the job was fine, Toko around the apartment when they were just enjoying their downtime was fine. But Toko when she started thinking and reminiscing and talking about quitting—what the hell did that even mean?—made her uncomfortable. "No," she said after a long pause.

"Never?"

"Never," she snapped, and then softer, "I'm going to bed."

Enemies, Soko thought, were good. They kept her from becoming complacent, cozy in a life that was honestly pretty quiet when she wasn't killing somebody or trying not to get killed. Enemies were what put bread on the table. Enemies were even what had led her to meet Toko. They weren't a bad thing. Enemies were what made her a hit man through and through, from the moment she picked up a gun to the day she would eventually die. But she had no regrets. She and Toko had talked about it before, how she didn't exactly have a lot of options in life. So enemies were fine. She could deal with enemies.

It was allies that made her uncomfortable.

* * *

The hit man from Vongola came back the next night, leaning in their doorway like he belonged there, and said with a great flourish, "Vongola Tenth accepts your proposal and would like to become acquainted with the great Belladonna in person." He gave the details for the next family meeting, and Soko wore her best poker face. Did he really expect them to just walk into the headquarters of the most powerful mafia family alive? If his boss had refused the offer and instead ordered them killed, they wouldn't know until they were in the middle of the room and every gun was trained on them. If he thought they were just going to agree to that, he wasn't giving them enough credit.

"Tell him that Belladonna accepts his invitation."

Soko whipped around to face Toko, who was looking at the hit man with something close to a smile. Toko wouldn't do something stupid like walk in without a plan, she reassured herself. The hit man bowed his head in a farewell and left as quickly as he had come.

"You're not going to ask?" Soko shrugged. "I trust you."

Her partner just smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cleaners are a certain type of assassin that also specialize in removing incriminating evidence. I doubt the Varia actually does this, but we're going to pretend they do for now. **

* * *

People who worked in the Underworld did business in black.

On the morning of their meeting with the Vongola, Soko stood beside Toko in the mirror carefully dusting her cheeks with blush, dressed in an identical cocktail dress as her partner. Toko, who thought about everything too much, once told her that one dresses for a funeral when they dress for business. Soko had never really understood the point-when she worked alone and meeting in person was absolutely necessary, she dressed casually, t-shirts and jeans rather than dresses and high heels. But Toko had insisted after their partnership began that making a good impression on clients was essential to maintaining an image.

Soko took her advice because she defaulted to her on all matters of this nature. She was better at handling people, and it wasn't just the language barrier that made Soko hesitant to speak up when they went anywhere. Toko could read anyone and know when they weren't being honest. It seemed strange, since Soko was the one from Japan where more went unspoken than not, yet it was Toko the American who was better at spotting to deception. That isn't to say that Soko was trusting-she didn't trust anyone but Toko and looked for dishonesty everywhere, but Toko found it with pinpoint accuracy.

"Funeral clothes," Toko reminded her that morning, pausing to apply lipstick, "Everyone does it this way."

"As long as you do the talking," she said, "What's our plan?"

"We go meet our new employer."

Soko frowned. "That's it?"

"That's it?" her partner parroted with a laugh, "There's no other family I'd rather take jobs from. This is a great opportunity for us. Do you know much about the Vongola?"

"Only as much as anyone else. Why?"

"You'll see."

* * *

The hit man-who introduced himself as Reborn-was waiting outside with a car and a sly grin. "Ciaossu," he greeted, kissing the top of Toko's hand. "May I escort you ladies to the Vongola compound?"

"_Grazie, signore_. You may," she said, climbing into the open passenger side door. Reborn opened the door for the seat behind her for Soko and smiled, though she still hesitated before getting in.

"How long have you been in Italy?" he asked conversationally as he started the car and pulled onto the street.

"Almost four years now." Soko glanced out the window and watched the countryside pass by in a blur, mountains and vineries and traditional homesteads. It reminded her of home in a way, of the green rolling hills and snow-capped mountains of Hokkaidou. Seeing Reborn's eyes watching her in the rear-view mirror made her stiffen and she realized he was speaking to her. "Pardon?" she asked.

"I asked where you're from," he repeated, "Quite a few of Vongola's current members are Japanese. You might share a hometown with someone."

"Ah. Sapporo. On Hokkaidou. Very far north."

"Hm." Reborn's eyes returned to the road and Soko exhaled. "I don't think anyone in the family is from Hokkaidou. That's interesting."

He began speaking to Toko again, and Soko's attention was drawn back to the trees they passed. For all the years she'd been in Italy, she'd never taken the time to appreciate what was outside of the cities. She knew the moment of introspection was only because she felt left out, unable to keep up with the conversation in the front seat, but she wondered if the feeling might linger and if she might be drawn back out to the countryside. Then again, the familiarity made her reminisce on days gone by, and Soko prided herself on not being overly sentimental, so she turned to look ahead at the road and the Vongola compound coming up in the distance.

* * *

Don Vongola was Japanese and quite young, and Soko wasn't sure what to make of that. When Reborn had mentioned that some of his men shared her home country, she hadn't realized that the boss was included. He greeted them first in Italian, then in English and Japanese, smiling warmly the whole time. The meeting room was spacious and everything from the long table to the upholstery on the chairs and the curtains looked like it cost a fortune. As Toko had predicted, everyone present wore black suits, and Soko was suddenly glad that she'd listened to her partner and didn't look out of place.

The boss sat on the far end of the table closest to the window. On his left were three men whom she presumed to be his guardians from the matching rings they wore. The two closest to him were Italian, but the last was Japanese, and he gave both of them a grin as they approached the table. On the other side were two more men, one blond and one with dark hair and scarring on one side of his face. It was the latter of the two that caught her interest; he wore his jacket open over his shoulders and surveyed the room with little interest, paying no attention to neither her nor Toko. Though she knew better than to jump to conclusions, Soko was no stranger to the various roles of organized crime groups, and the look in this man's eyes reminded her of a cleaner.

The men on the left were guardians, and the ones on the right were not tied as directly to the family. Soko understood that they were meant to sit on the right side of the table, but she let Toko take a seat first to put one more space between her and the scarred man.

Don Vongola waited until everyone was seated to begin the meeting. He started with politics, something about current government offices and civil unrest that Soko couldn't quite catch. She'd tried to pay attention, but she missed half of the words and found herself examining the assembled Vongola instead. The man across from her, the Japanese one, was tall with a small scar of his own on his chin. Of everyone there, he looked the most familiar to her, reminding her of several kyoudai she'd met when she was young. He looked safe, she decided, if she needed to ask someone for something. The other two were Italian, one with dark, curled hair and the other with silver.

Soko glanced to her own side and froze when she met the cleaner's eyes, realizing he'd been watching her stare at the others. She averted her eyes to the table, and then to the boss when she heard him call her name. "Do you have an opinion on the matter, Soko?" he asked with something like sympathy. He probably noticed her eyes wandering, as well. "Everyone here speaks Japanese, so we can switch to that if it would make you more comfortable."

Mortified by the silence in the room and all of the eyes on her, Soko quickly answered, "Thank you, Don Vongola. My partner may speak for both of us."

He looked almost disappointed by her answer and she hoped she hadn't said something that would get them killed, but the meeting resumed and she inwardly sighed in relief.

It ended quickly enough, and Don Vongola allowed Soko and Toko to stay if they wanted to get to know the others. Toko caught Soko by the arm before she could get to her feet and communicated with only her eyes that they should do just that, and Soko forced a smile and nodded. Her partner moved immediately towards the blond and the boss as well as the silver-haired guardian who refused to leave his side. Though she'd intended to speak with the Japanese guardian, Soko was stopped by the only man remaining at the table, the one she'd noticed earlier. "Were you able to understand anything?" he asked in fluent Japanese.

She hesitated to answer. "Only a little," she said quietly, eyeing her partner out of the corner of her eye.

"Speak up next time. Vongola's a pushover, and he's sympathetic to his people."

Soko was startled by the way he addressed his boss but simply nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but Don Vongola chose that moment to come over and join the conversation. "What do you think so far?" he asked expectantly, switching to their native tongue, "Is there anything I can do to help you feel more at home?"

"No," she said, then quickly amended, "Thank you. I'm fine."

Again, the boss seemed distressed by her answer. "Well," he said, disappointment quickly replaced by a smile, "I see you've already met Xanxus. He's in charge of the Varia assassination and cleaner squad, which will serve as backup should you run into trouble on a job." Soko must have been unable to hide her shock because he continued, "Is there a problem?"

"I...no..."

Worry crossed Don Vongola's face but he hid it with further pleasantries and conversation. He didn't push the matter any further.

* * *

Reborn brought them back to the apartment and told them that Don Vongola would contact them personally should their services be required. Soko stood on the balcony and watched his car disappear over the rolling hills, thinking of the Italian countryside and her childhood. "Could you help me get out of this?" she heard Toko call and came back inside to find her partner sitting on the edge of the bed. "What did you think?" Soko climbed onto the bed and moved Toko's hair aside to unzip the dress. When she didn't say anything, Toko turned to her. "I think the boss was worried about you."

She didn't answer. When Toko reached to help her with her dress, Soko pushed her hands away and unzipped it on her own.

"You've been tight-lipped today," her partner said, adopting the tone of a mother, "Did something happen at the meeting?"

"Nothing in particular."

Toko sat on her knees and took Soko's hands into her own, squeezing reassuringly. These sorts of things used to bother Soko, but she came to appreciate the attention. She had never really known her own mother, anyway, and Toko was an acceptable surrogate, though they looked so different.

"The man with the scars," Soko murmured, "The one who sat to Don Vongola's right."

"The cleaner? What about him?"

"In the yakuza," she said quietly, "Cleaners take care of targets, as well as whoever made the mistake to necessitate their involvement." Toko was silent. "That is the man who will kill us if we make a mistake."

"I don't think he will," Toko said, but Soko only shook her head. "He won't," she insisted, "Because we won't make any mistakes."

A few years ago when they had just met, Soko was young and brash enough that she would have agreed. But she thought of the meeting and of the hit man's warning, "_We are only human_." Sooner or later, every life ended, but for people in their line of work, it was always sooner.

* * *

**I also don't think cleaners actually function in this way in the real yakuza...but they do in manga sometimes.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter turned out to be a bit longer than usual. **

**Canon characters will make more regular appearances from now on, so things should get interesting.**

* * *

Toko had insisted that they go out to celebrate being comfortably employed, and Soko hadn't argued, so they had left their shared apartment for downtown Sicily. Though she was hesitant to say it, Soko enjoyed their outings together, as she and Toko knew each other well enough not to push boundaries and knew what sorts of conversational topics were and were not off limits. If she weren't doing what she did for a living, Soko would have considered them friends. Hit men didn't have friends. They had associates who might just sell them out if the pay was good enough. Admittedly, she and Toko had become close enough that the thought didn't cross her mind as frequently as it should. She still kept her gun within arm's reach of where she slept, though. That wasn't negotiable, and Toko did it, too.

"I love it here," Toko said as they walked down the street together, "Every breath you take is filled with the ocean. You lived on the coast when you were little, right? Was it nice?"

Soko closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the sea wind, and nodded. "Yes, it was."

They ended up at a cafe sitting outside with two cups of sweetened tea, and Toko smiled at her and lifted her glass, saying, "To us!" Soko quietly did the same, taking a tentative sip through her straw.

"How long do you think until we have a job?"

"Who knows?" Toko shrugged and gulped down a third of her glass. "Why? Anxious?"

"Something like that." She stiffened when she noticed something over Toko's shoulder, a flash of gold, and her partner turned to look. One of the men from their meeting with Vongola was there, the blond one, and Soko eyed him warily as he approached. He was dressed more casually now, a green, fur-lined jacket and baggy pants, and Soko saw just the hint of a tattoo peeking out at his neck. He wasn't alone-two men, both in black, followed him.

"_Ciao_," he called with a wave and a smile, coming to stand next to the table without sitting down. "Fancy seeing the two of you here. _Come sta_?"

"_Molto bene, grazie_," Toko answered for both of them. "Yes, it is funny that we should run into each other, Don Chiavarone."

Soko's eyes widened. Don? He was a boss as well? He had a similar air to him as Don Vongola, kind and gentle, though Soko still regarded him cautiously.

"You wouldn't mind if I joined you, would you?" Don Chiavarone said.

"_Mi dispiace_," Toko said, "But I prefer not to mix business and pleasure." Subordinates called their bosses pushovers and outsiders turned them down; Soko thought she would never understand mafia etiquette.

Don Chiavarone looked almost hurt, but managed a smile. "My apologies," he said, and then winked, "Perhaps another time then."

And Toko, again astounding Soko with her unpredictable responses, smiled back and said, "Yes. Another time." When Soko looked at her partner, she saw something odd in her eyes that she hadn't seen before, something like what she'd seen in her mother's eyes when she spoke of her father. It was not love, but maybe it was longing. It was definitely regret.

* * *

The wait for a job was brief. Don Vongola personally called Toko's cell phone and requested they meet with him for the details. This time, they wore plain clothes, still in the colors of mourning, but vests and cargo pants and gloves, plenty of places to keep weapons and ammo, and tied up their hair. The guardians weren't present this time; it was only Don Vongola and the cleaner who waited for them. Unlike last time, Don Vongola was solemn and did not greet them with smiles. He went straight to business, informing them of an unfortunate situation with a rival family that the Vongola had only barely tolerated in the past. A recent incident that resulted in civilian casualties was the last straw, and Don Vongola said that the head of the family needed to be put down.

The cleaner didn't say a word, leaning back in his chair listening and looking almost bored, and Soko occasionally felt his eyes stray to her. "The Bencivenni head is opening a hotel," he continued, "And tonight, he and several associates are staying at the finished property to discuss business. The associates need to go, as well. If his men or his guardians interfere, do what you need to do, but do not involve any other parties. No civilians. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Soko answered this time, if only because this was familiar to her. Kill orders issued in Japanese struck something deeply-ingrained in her from her youth.

At this point, the cleaner sat up, unfolding a large square of paper on the table. "This is a blueprint of the building," he said, "Main exits are circled in blue, emergency in red. Don Bencivenni is holding his meeting in a suite on the twelfth floor."

Toko leaned forward and silently studied the blueprint for a minute before she said, "There are five viable routes. I could enter through the secondary entrance in the back, and Soko could take the stairs leading to the emergency exit."

"Good," Don Vongola said, then gently, "I apologize for the short notice, but this can't wait. Typically, the Varia handles these sorts of things, but the majority have their hands full in Spain at the moment."

"It's not a problem," Soko reassured him.

He called, "Be careful," as they left, and she felt the cleaner's eyes on her back, daring her to screw up on her first job under the Vongola and promising death if she did.

* * *

Reborn dropped them off a block away after sunset and Toko had kissed her gun like she always did for good luck. "The better it likes you, the better it shoots," she'd say with a laugh, and Soko had always thought it was a childish thing to do. As with many of Toko's other eccentricities, Soko had never understood her affection for her weapons. To her, a gun was a gun, and just the tools of their trade the same way the writer's tool was the pen. Of course one could have a preference, but she would never go so far as to have any kind of emotional connection to it.

They split up as soon as the building was in sight, Toko going left to go around the back and Soko going right to find the emergency exit stairs. She had no preference to working beside Toko or not; they both left themselves, the people that wore the monikers Soko and Toko, behind whenever they flicked off the safety. Neither of them spoke during jobs, because there was no room or reason for words. You got in, you killed, and you got out. Words could wait until they were both home, both people again instead of hired guns.

It was one flight of stairs to the doors that went inside. Soko flicked off the safety, carefully turned the handle, peeked through the opening, and ducked inside, helping the door shut silently behind her. When she worked, she didn't think about anything but the job. Not Toko, not her homeland and all the things she missed, not even the cleaner and his cruel eyes, just the job, just being careful and unseen, just aim, fire, escape. It was less thinking and more instinct, kill-or-be-killed, and it was delightfully uncomplicated, unlike all of the mafia business she was sure she'd be getting acquainted with soon.

Coming in through the emergency exit, she found herself in the stairwell. She started making her way up, counting flights as she went to keep herself focused. There were no alarms and no one stationed at the doors. She was beginning to worry that it was going too smoothly. Upon reaching the twelfth floor, she peeked through the glass window in the door and then slipped into the hallway.

There were lights on further down in the hall, the only ones on in the whole building, and her heart was beating quickly in anticipation. She was sure now that Don Bencivenni had expected them, considering the ease with which they'd gotten in and located the targets. It wasn't often that a lure was played so close, though, which could only mean that the man wasn't actually in the lit room or that they had a hell of a trap waiting to be sprung in there. Maybe both. The only way to know for sure was to check.

Soko pressed her back to the wall as she made her way closer, peering around the corner very carefully. The door was open and only a single man was seated there, checking his watch impatiently. She weighed her options; if his men were in the room with him, shooting him from the hall would be her best bet, as it would give her a head start to escape, but such a simple ploy was so predictable that she couldn't imagine that was really the case. On the other hand, if they were elsewhere, why hadn't she run into them yet? If they'd seen her, surely someone would have killed her by now. She pulled back to hide herself around the corner again when she heard his phone ring.

His speech was gruff and clipped, but she managed to catch most of what he said. "Well?" he answered, sounding anxious, and then, "Is that right? Where?" A pause. "No. Figure out who sent her first. Spread out on the whole fourth floor, I don't want any surprises."

Her heart stopped. There was no question in her mind what he was talking about. When he hung up, she knew she had to make a choice. She could kill him now; she was guaranteed a shot and a quick escape, since most of his forces were probably with Toko and scavenging the wing she'd entered in, meaning only his guardians were left in the room with him. On the other hand, if she did that, the guardians would know right away that Toko hadn't acted alone, and would probably get rid of her. But if Soko came to her rescue, there was a chance that they would fail the mission.

Either way, she didn't have much time. Soko took a deep breath. She leaned around the corner to look at the man again. And then she chose.

* * *

Toko was being interrogated in one of the security rooms on the fourth floor. By the time Soko got there, they'd just started. She was blindfolded and her hands were tied behind the chair, and they were putting all of her weapons on the table. There were four men in the room; one closest to her, one closer to the table, and two by the door. Soko breathed in, aimed at the one on the left side of the door, and fired.

One.

Killing was easy. When she'd first started, she'd kept track, but after a few months, it seemed pointless. She only counted when she was on a job. The one on the right side of the doorway was just turning to look when she shot him between the eyes.

Two.

The one closest to the table was unarmed, probably the lead interrogator, and he was still scrambling for one of Toko's guns on the table.

Three.

Which left only the one closest to Toko, who had been knocked onto his back when Soko's partner swung her bound arms and her fist had collided with the side of his head. Soko didn't give him a chance to get back up.

Four. All clear.

Soko untied her partner's hands and ripped off the blindfold, and the blond woman took her weapons from the table. "Most of his men are on the tenth floor," she said, "His daughter's there." Soko met her eyes, already understanding, and nodded. "Why'd you come?"

"Hm?"

"You came for me," Toko said, "I bet you were already up on the twelfth floor."

"Does it matter?"

Her partner smiled just a little. "No."

They parted ways again, going up staircases on opposite ends. Soko was met with resistance the moment she set foot on the tenth floor hallway and ducked back into the stairwell as a bullet ricocheted off the wall by her head. Another broke the window on the door and she pressed herself against the wall again, listening as footsteps came running closer. At least five, she thought, aiming through the broken window when she saw someone get close enough. One, she started to count again, but now she was distracted. Don Bencivenni's daughter complicated things, after all. The door to the stairwell opened but Soko was already halfway down to the next floor and craned her neck to fire at the man peering over the edge; two. She was a wildcard; some families had all blood relatives in the loop, and some kept everyone but the Don out of mafia affairs completely. It didn't matter to Soko personally, three, but Don Vongola had made it clear that they weren't to involve civilians, four, and five.

Five turned out to be a poor estimate as at least four more followed, and Soko retreated to the ninth floor hallway to give herself more room to work with. It must be a difficult choice to make, Soko thought, whether or not to tell your loved ones that you were involved with organized crime. She herself had never had to worry about it; she was the daughter of the oyabun's mistress, and even if they hadn't wanted to tell her, it would have been difficult to keep it a secret. Soko had never really bothered to think too hard about the family dynamics that she wasn't directly involved in; her father had always spoiled her with expensive gifts when he wasn't teaching her how to use a gun, and loyalty had been instilled in her at a young age, so she didn't want to imagine that somewhere, he had a wife and son who might have hated him for having a child with another woman, and might have hated her for being that child.

She'd forgotten to count, but when she brought herself out of her reminiscing, it was silent. All clear.

Soko went back up to the battered tenth floor stairwell door and saw a teenage girl huddled against the back wall of the pool. The door was locked, so she went to find one of the guards and patted him down for a key card. Just as she found it, she heard the door open behind her and turned to see the girl running down the hallway. "_Basta_," she yelled, aiming at the back of the girl's head, and the girl did as she was told, freezing in the middle of the hallway. Soko approached, slowly at first, but the girl was wearing a bathing suit and didn't have any weapons in either hand. The way she was shaking told Soko that she a civilian. "Stay right there," Soko told her. The girl inhaled shakily and started to cry.

"Are you going to kill me?" she whimpered. She was fair-skinned with long, dark hair and not much shorter than Soko.

The hit woman didn't answer, lost in thought, until she heard the girl's cries turn to sobs. "Quiet," Soko ordered, and the girl did her best to comply, "Do you know what your father does for a living?"

"No," she said miserably, "My parents are divorced. I only see _babbo_ twice a month."

There were gunshots somewhere above them and the girl whimpered again. Two, three, four, five, Soko counted, just how many people were in that room? And then, it was quiet again. She waited in silence for a minute before the door at the far end of the hallway opened and Toko came towards them, pausing when she saw the girl and Soko's gun at the back of her head. Toko nodded to her and turned to leave, and Soko holstered her gun and walked around the girl.

"Wait," she gasped, collapsing to her knees, "Is my dad okay? Who are you people? What do you want?"

Toko didn't stop, opening the door to the stairwell, but Soko paused in the doorway. She didn't look at the girl's face; she didn't want to remember it later. "Your father is dead," she said honestly. The girl's breathing became quick and panicked. "I am Belladonna," she continued, "If you want revenge in a few years, ask around. Someone will know how to find me." And then she left her there, sobbing on the floor.

Enemies, Soko thought, were good. The best, really. She hoped that Don Bencivenni's daughter would come for her one day.

* * *

They hadn't gone two steps out the door when a car pulled up to the hotel driveway. The window rolled down and Soko's breath caught in her throat when her eyes met the cleaner's red ones. "Quick work," he commented.

"Don Vongola stationed someone to watch," Toko realized.

"Don't be offended," he said, "We don't know you from a hole in the wall. Can't just let a couple freelancers do their first job without any supervision." Soko found it difficult to do as he asked, but didn't say anything. Toko mercifully took the passenger seat, and Soko got in behind her. "I already got the initial report from Reborn," he went on, "One of you really knows how to shoot. Between the eyes, just about every time."

"That would be Soko," Toko said, sounding almost proud, "She doesn't like to chance incapacitating shots."

He glanced in the rear view mirror and Soko kept her eyes on the trees they were passing. "Do you not talk to foreigners?" he asked darkly.

"No, I..." Her Italian had been just fine a moment ago with Don Bencivenni's daughter, but now she was having a hard time remembering how to conjugate verbs. "I do not have anything to say."

"Ever?" The tension in the car had tripled since she and her partner had gotten in. What was she supposed to say to that? No, in fact, I don't, so please stop asking? To her surprise, he backed off and changed the subject. "You don't like incapacitating shots?"

"No."

"Why?"

She hesitated to answer. "They are a waste of ammunition. One shoots to kill a target, not to slow it down."

He was silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the road, and Soko wasn't sure if she had said the right thing or not. Then, he asked, "You been doing this a while?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

She noticed then that Toko hadn't said a word. Looking forward, she saw her partner with a motherly smile on her face. "I first took contracts when I was sixteen," she answered, "But I worked before then, too."

There was a short pause before he said, "Seems like you have plenty to say."

Soko looked at the cleaner-Xanxus, if she recalled correctly-and wondered if there may be more to him than she thought upon a first glance.

In the distance, the lights of the Vongola compound welcomed them home.


	4. Chapter 4

Don Vongola was so pleased that he sent flowers, a bouquet of full-bloomed roses, and Toko went out to buy a vase for them. "It's sweet of him," she'd said, but Soko had simply shrugged and watched her fill the vase with water.

"It's polite," she corrected, "Full-bloomed roses mean 'thank you.'"

Toko had smiled at that. "Oh? I didn't realize you spoke the language of flowers."

"My mother taught me. The _oyabun _always sent her gardenia."

Her partner smiled peaceably and took a seat at the table, admiring the roses. "And what does that mean?"

Soko leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "It means, 'I love you in secret.'"

Toko was silent for a moment, thinking, and then she got out of her seat. "I'm going out tonight," she announced.

"With Don Chiavarone?"

There was a short, awkward pause before the blond laughed. "Where did that come from?"

"I saw how you looked at him." Soko shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm not your mother."

Toko opened her mouth to say something, but ended up changing her mind, smiling a bit to herself and patting Soko on the shoulder before she took her purse, put on her shoes, and left. Soko stayed at the table a moment longer, still staring at the roses. She had never had Toko's skill at adjusting quickly to change. Their sudden alliance with the Vongola had initially put her on edge because of the delicate nature of such an arrangement. Even though she wasn't as immediately worried that Don Vongola would send them into a trap-not that she didn't think about it, it just wasn't her primary concern anymore-she was still uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Getting out might do her some good, she decided, and stood to get her own purse.

* * *

Hoping to distract herself and work on her pitiful Italian, Soko went down a market street and examined the stands full of freshly-caught fish and herbs and cheeses. Vendors called to her, "_Signorina_, come and try something," and she politely accepted samples and even bought a few fruits. She was still getting used to Sicily; personal space was much different than in her hometown, and people stood so close to talk, but when she stood back and watched people interact, she enjoyed the atmosphere.

Carrying a bag of her choices, Soko came out of the market and back onto the main street and froze when she saw Xanxus across the way. She was mentally debating turning around and pretending she hadn't seen him, but he made eye contact and began making his way over, so she stayed where she was. The cleaner was alone again; she had yet to meet any of his men or even see them and wondered if he preferred working alone. "I didn't know you went anywhere by yourself," he commented, making her painfully aware of her partner's absence. She simply nodded. "There's a bar in the area called Brindisi," he said, "You should join me."

"Excuse me," she said, "But I prefer not to mix business and pleasure."

Unlike Don Chiavarone, he was undeterred, and he narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't a suggestion."

And so, Soko found herself following him down the street towards their destination, wondering how a person said "no" and had their answer interpreted as such. Brindisi wasn't far, only a block or so away, and it wasn't just a hole in the wall. The large windows facing the street were darkened, and when they stepped inside, Soko saw many of the patrons were dressed in funeral-wear, dark suits and dresses, and she recognized one of Vongola's guardians, the Japanese one, at the bar. He waved when they passed, and she returned it timidly as she found a seat beside Xanxus. The bartender came by in a moment, leaving water for them both, and Xanxus said something in Italian too quickly for her to catch that made the man behind the counter nod and start mixing a drink. A mafia bar, she thought, and wondered how many of the men in the room were from Vongola.

"How many languages do you know?" Soko asked curiously.

"Seven," he said, "It's the minimum for joining Varia."

She took a sip of water. "Why choose Japanese?"

He smirked, the look in his eyes becoming distant as though he were remembering something. "Because I found out the next in line to become Don was Japanese. I wanted to hunt him down and kill him, and before that, I wanted to make sure he understood why I was doing it." Soko said nothing. "I used to hate him," he continued, "I did for a long time. Sometimes, I still do." He chuckled to himself. "But, family is family."

"That's admirable," she said, "Not everyone can serve someone they once hated."

The bartender returned and deposited a drink in front of him, and he lingered for a moment until Soko shook her head. "Admirable," Xanxus sneered, "That's one word for it, I guess."

Soko thought they both ran out of things to say, because for a while, Xanxus drank in silence, and she surveyed the other people in the bar, likely all mafia, talking quietly among themselves. "Why did you invite me here?" she finally asked as he finished off the glass and set it down on the counter with what seemed like more force than necessary.

"Do I need a reason?"

"Well, no." She just couldn't figure him out. Don Vongola, as limited as her exposure to him had been, she thought she had just about figured out. Reborn, too, she thought she was starting to figure out. But the cleaner? Maybe it was because he was the only one she actively avoided, but she didn't know what made him tick any better than the first time he glared at her.

"If you have a problem with me," he said, and the way he leaned in was interpreted as almost predatory, "Then just say it, and spare us both a future of pointless meetings where Vongola tries to get us to be friends."

She swallowed roughly. "I don't have a problem with you." He didn't move or look any less skeptical. "Really, I don't. It's just..." She bit her lip. "Isn't this normal? Do you expect me to want to get to know you? Every time I look at you, all I can think is, _'there is the man who will end me.'_ Can you blame me for-?"

"Stop." He wasn't glaring. He looked almost amused. "What was the last thing you said?"

"When I look at you," I said uneasily, "I just think about...how you're going to kill me one day."

"Unless you have a gun to Vongola's head, I don't see that happening."

Soko eyed him suspiciously. "You're a cleaner."

"And?"

"And...your job is to take care of mistakes."

It clicked for both of them at the same time. "Yeah, that is my job," he said, "That doesn't include killing you just because you screw up." Soko didn't think he had any reason to lie about it. "Is that how they do things in the east?"

"In my old family," she said. Xanxus looked like he wanted to laugh at her, but the relief was too great for Soko to care. So _this _is what Toko was talking about, she realized, the kindness that is the Vongola family. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't heard it with her own ears.

Reborn chose that moment to clear his throat on the other side of Xanxus, and Soko was startled, not having noticed him approach. "_Ciaossu_," he greeted, tipping his hat, and Xanxus grunted in response, looking none too happy about him being there.

"Business?" he asked, and Reborn nodded, but his dark eyes were fixed on Soko.

"Yes, but not for you."

* * *

When they arrived at the compound, Toko was already there, exchanging pleasantries with Don Vongola, who rose to greet them. "I'm sorry to call you out on such a nice day," he said, and Soko thought that he always seemed to be apologizing to them, "But your next job is going to take some preparation."

"Politics," Toko said with a passive wave and a laugh. Soko knew she only pretended not to be interested.

"Yes. Do you know the name Giueseppe Marocco?"

When Soko shook her head, Toko answered instead. "He was running for some office earlier this year, wasn't he?"

"He was supported by the Bencivenni, and is a little distraught by the sudden loss of financial backing." Soko remembered Don Bencivenni's teenage daughter briefly, the petite girl who'd stood shaking in the hallway as she held her at gunpoint. "A couple of hit men came yesterday to send a message," he continued, "We sustained no casualties, but I won't tolerate a repeat of that incident. However, considering Marocco's standing in the political world, this is going to have to be handled a little more delicately, ideally without any evidence of our direct involvement."

"So it requires a woman's touch," Toko mused, and Soko understood immediately.

_A woman's touch, _meaning one of them would be posing as a prostitute.

"I don't like this sort of thing," Don Vongola said, looking to Soko, "But we would prefer if this looked more like a third party job, and Toko has told me that you two are...familiar with this sort of setup."

Soko felt Xanxus' gaze on her at that and only nodded stiffly.

"If this could be done in the next few days, that would be ideal."

"Not a problem," Toko said, "We'll research Marocco's usual haunts, Soko will be the lookout, and I'll do the deed."

"No," Soko interrupted, "I will perform the kill. Toko will keep watch."

There was an uneasy silence. Toko sighed deeply but didn't disagree, and Don Vongola waited a moment to say gently, "It's up to you. Let me know when you finalize your plans."

The meeting concluded and Xanxus looked at Soko like he wanted to say something, but never did, so she silently followed Toko out the door. "Why do you always do that?" Toko muttered under her breath as they walked down the hall. Soko kept her eyes ahead. "Would you look at me?"

"Because you're wrong for this job," she snapped, and they stopped walking. "I have never said it before, but it's the truth. You're not the kind of person who should be doing this, Toko, and one day, you're going to want to leave and I want you to be able to."

"Just because I wasn't born into it like you doesn't mean I can't be efficient."

"I'm not talking about efficiency. You're too kind, you know. You still have this purity that I've never known." Soko shook her head. "I don't want you to lose it."

"I'm older than you," Toko said gently, "It should be me who does those things."

"Age doesn't matter in our line of work," Soko murmured, noticing Xanxus watching them from the open doorway of the meeting room.

He looked angry, and she wasn't sure why.


	5. Chapter 5

Marocco had more covered-up scandals to his name than political contributions, and it was almost a wonder that the Bencivenni kept supporting such a high-risk ally. He was also a frequent customer at brothels, which made Soko's job even easier. Her partner intercepted his call to make a reservation for the following weekend, and all that was left was to wait.

"He's staying on the ninth floor in a presidential suite," Toko said, drawing a circle on the hotel floor plan on their dining room table, "If you can get him onto the balcony, I can make the hit from an adjacent roof. I'll wait for the signal."

Their signal was always the same; when Soko turned to her left and brushed her hands over her shoulder like she was pushing down the strap of her bra, that was Toko's opportunity to take the shot.

This was far from the first time that Soko and her partner had ever worked a job that involved her posing as a prostitute, but neither of them enjoyed it. Toko claimed that she disliked them because they had to split up. Regular jobs were different, she'd said, because they separated only to expedite the mission and took the most efficient routes possible. But jobs like this were huge risks all by themselves. Soko had to go in unarmed, because if she was stopped on her way out and found with a weapon, it would be obvious that she had been part of the setup, so the kill was entirely up to Toko.

What Soko disliked the most was how much of the mission was left up to luck. Toko's marksmanship was essential to kill the target, but tricking them into letting their guard down and getting them into position, and then escaping the scene of the crime as quickly as possible, had nothing to do with skill or preparation. Once, a maid had come in just as Toko was making the hit, and the poor woman had screamed so loud that Soko was sure the entire floor heard her. She'd had to find a way out the window that time, because the target's allies were alerted immediately. If she needed to engage someone in close-quarters combat, she could, but not a mafioso's entire entourage, or a whole host of hired thugs, and the ninth floor was a bit of a stretch for a window escape. When the odds were against her and she didn't even have a gun, all of Soko's skill couldn't help her, and her fate was dictated by chance alone.

"For dinner tonight," Toko said suddenly, abandoning the floor plan, "I was thinking the seafood place a block from here." This was another part of their ritual; Soko's partner would treat them both to dinner shortly before these kinds of jobs, "For luck," she claimed, though her eyes shone with worry. As much as Soko had tried to define their partnership as strictly business, it would be a bold-faced lie to say that neither of them considered the other an ally and confidant, and someone they wouldn't mind spending their last night with. "And," she added lightly, "Don Chiavarone will be joining us."

Soko looked at her from across the table with apprehension and Toko frowned. "Oh," she murmured, "I'm sorry, Soko, I didn't think you would mind. I should have asked you, anyway. I can tell him not to come-!"

"Don't bother." She stood from the table. "I won't go." She kept her voice carefully neutral. Toko stood to meet her before she left the room.

"Soko," she said gently, "What you said to me the other day, about being wrong for this job..."

"Was the truth," Soko finished, and tried to step around her. "Don't be offended."

"I'm not anymore." Toko put a hand on her shoulder. "You've been acting odd lately."

"Telling you the truth is odd?"

"No, but your behavior is." She looked intently into her eyes. "I can't figure it out. Do you dislike that I've become friends with Don Chiavarone? Or is there something else?"

"What you do is your business. And I really don't have a problem with him." Soko pushed her hand away gently.

"I think you're having trouble adjusting," her partner said, "It helps to make friends, Soko. The Vongola are all but throwing themselves at us to make us comfortable. Isn't there anyone you feel that you can talk to?"

"I'd just rather not."

Toko sighed. "I won't tell you what to do," she said softly, and moved away from Soko towards the door where she bent down to get her shoes on, and Soko thought that she looked and sounded tired, like a parent who had just dealt with an unruly child. Toko left, and she spent next hour cleaning her gun and reminiscing on the person she used to be.

* * *

On Saturday night, Soko wore black lingerie with a long coat over it. Toko served as her escort, and they spent the car ride in complete silence until they reached the hotel that Marocco was staying at, where he was waiting for her at the door.

Giueseppe Marocco was a tall man, not particularly muscular nor overweight with the sort of build she expected for politicians. His hair was gray and his eyes were surrounded by creases, many years of false smiles apparent on his face. He greeted her with one a touch more genuine, almost gently. "_Benvenuta_," he greeted and she smiled meekly and pretended she didn't quite understand. It was always better to pretend she didn't speak the language; it saved them both from awkward conversation and got her in and out more quickly.

Marocco reacted in exactly the way she'd hoped, still smiling and wrapping arm around her waist as he led her into the hotel. Soko glanced over her shoulder once at Toko, who nodded at her reassuringly before pulling away.

They went to his room without a word to one another and Soko took a careful look around the presidential suite. Wooden floors with a long rug in the middle of the room where the furniture rested. The kitchen was to her right and she saw a four poster bed through the open doorway on her left. What really mattered, though, was the large, glass door straight ahead that led out onto a sizable balcony. It had only been a few minutes since Toko had left her off, though; she needed to give her at least five to allow her time to get into position.

Slowly, she shed her coat and let it drop around her feet on the floor. Marocco came forward, not touching yet, just looking over all of the skin that the lingerie exposed. Soko didn't like to think much when she did these sorts of jobs; she always thought about the geisha girls in the red light districts of her home. She began serving her father's organization when she was young and carried out her first contract at sixteen, and she could remember once returning from a mission to report the success and finding a girl no older than her bent between the legs of her boss. She had seen the geisha girls before, but never in action, and the look on her face when she saw Soko, the shame and the desperation, never left her. Their faces, painted in pale imitations of true geisha, always looking away from her in embarrassment, appeared in her sleep sometimes, and she wondered if she could have helped them, if there was any help for any of them.

She didn't think so, not then, and not now. There were some things that one did not simply leave, not by physically walking away, and the yakuza lifestyle was one of them.

Soko was drawn back out of her thoughts when he ran one of his hands down her shoulder and commented on her tattoos, the ones that ran from her shoulders to her hips, front and back, and she wondered if five minutes had gone by yet. It had to be close, she thought, and turned to face Marocco with a shy smile, walking backwards towards the balcony door and beckoning him with one crooked finger. He chuckled and followed her as she reached behind her to open the door, slipping out into the cool night air, arching her back against the railing. She giggled when he leaned down to kiss her neck and reached for one of her legs to wrap around his waist. Soko inwardly frowned, having hoped she could detach herself long enough to get him into a better position, but she'd just have to be patient.

There was a gunshot, and the left side of Marocco's head was shredded, and all Soko saw was red. Her heart stopped when she heard many footsteps, no doubt Marocco's associates or bodyguards, approaching the room, and looked down at the blood spattered over her body and the dead man who slumped at her feet. She took a deep breath and started screaming.

The entire hotel seemed to come to life, room lights above and below the suite coming on and people moving about in adjacent rooms. The door was thrown open and several men who couldn't be anything but mafia rushed in. One held her at gunpoint and her screams died down into sobs as she held her hands up to show she had no weapons. The others swarmed the suite, searching for murder weapons, and two more still came out to the balcony and looked over Marocco. Though she was crying crocodile tears, Soko's fear was genuine. The shot had been so close, just a few inches off and it could've been her dead on the ground. And she hadn't given the signal; was Toko trying to get her killed?

"It was a sniper," she heard one of the men examining Marocco say, "You think she was a setup?"

The other one gave her a quick once-over. "You know something about this, _puttana_?" he growled and she just continued to cry.

"I didn't do it," she whimpered softly in Japanese, and they looked to each other in confusion. None of them seemed to speak the language.

"It couldn't have been a coincidence," the one with the gun trained on her said, but one of the men in the room came out to the balcony.

"Let her go," he said, "Look at her, she's terrified. What's killing a prostitute going to do besides cause us more trouble? We need to get out and look for the shooter." The man in front of her didn't look convinced, but did as he was told and gestured with a jerk of his head for her to go. Soko hurriedly slipped her coat on and left the room, hiccuping and wiping at her eyes all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors closed, she leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That was too close.

The police had already been called by the time she was leaving the lobby, and even though the receptionist gasped upon seeing her with blood and viscera splattered on her face, she was only stopped long enough to give the police a brief rundown of what had happened in mangled Italian.

She recognized the car that pulled up for her to be Reborn's rather than Toko's but climbed into the passenger seat without hesitating, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. She asked for her gun right away and he complied, handing it to her. The hit man then took the chance to look at the brain matter on her cheek and the grime covering the inside of her coat and asked with a smirk, "Rough night?"

She slammed the car door shut.

* * *

Soko was not one to speak to those above her without courtesy, even if they did frustrate her, but she was absolutely seething by the time they reached the Vongola meeting room. Reborn kindly opened the door for her and the eyes of Toko and Don Vongola turned to her and immediately widened. "Soko," her partner gasped, getting to her feet to meet her halfway as she approached the table, "My God, are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?" she spat in Japanese, not thinking clearly enough to express herself in any other language, "Were you trying to get me killed? Not only did I not give the signal, but he was standing far too close for that to have been a safe shot. Marocco had hired help, and they were quick to react. I didn't think I was going to get out alive."

"She wasn't the shooter."

Soko froze; she hadn't heard Xanxus come in behind her. He looked her over almost appraisingly in her filthy coat. "It was _you_?" she hissed, any fear she ever had for him forgotten, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do the hit."

"You almost got me killed."

"You would've been fine," he said, "One of our teams entered the building not long after you. How do you think you got down the hall and out of the building so easily?" Slowly, Don Vongola edged out of his seat and towards the door, motioning for Toko to follow, either trusting them not to break anything or fully expecting it.

"You should've waited," Soko said.

"You should've let your partner play the part of the whore," he shot back, and she glared.

"I don't see what the problem is. This is my job."

"You're a hit man, not a prostitute. How far would you have gone if I hadn't made the shot when I did?"

"As far as the job required." They were circling the table now. "I don't see how it's any of your business, regardless."

"I'm your relief team, trash. Anything to do with your work is my business."

She had her gun unholstered with the safety off and trained on his face in record time and was impressed when he mirrored her half a second later. "What did you just call me?" she demanded, voice low. Anyone else would have taken the hint, but Xanxus only added fuel to the fire.

"I called you 'trash,' which is what you are if you forget your station."

She couldn't believe he would say something like that while staring down a professional assassin's gun and had to remind herself that shooting him wouldn't do anything but put her and Toko in hot water with the Vongola. "Clearly, nothing I say is going to change your mind," she muttered, lowering her arms and eventually putting the safety back on and holstering her gun again. "It wouldn't have mattered if you were Don Vongola and told me to do it differently; I do these missions. That's just how it goes for us."

Slowly, he followed her actions and they both relaxed. "I thought you had more self-respect than that," he sneered, "Don't the Japanese have some kind of thing about keeping yourself pure for marriage?"

"I was born into a yakuza family," she said without looking at him, "I've been ruined for marriage since birth."

* * *

Toko drove them home. Soko went straight for the bathroom, throwing the coat and the lingerie onto the tile floor and stepping into the shower as she turned the water on, not bothering to wait for it to get warm. Toko came in after her with a plastic bag, gathering all of the clothes with Giueseppe Marocco's blood on them to dispose of. "You know," she said, "I think he likes you."

Soko would have laughed if she wasn't in such a bad mood. "I don't know why you would say that."

"He wanted to protect your virtue," her partner said, "It's kind of sweet."

"Stuipd," Soko muttered, scrubbing vigorously at every inch of herself with the soap, "There's nothing left to protect."

Toko tied a knot in the top of the bag and sighed.

"When did you leave?"

"Not long after you went in," she said, "I had just driven over to the next building over and he was there, waiting. He told me I could go, he was going to make the kill. I tried to change his mind, but he was determined."

"I almost died."

"Ah," Toko said, smiling, "And now you're starting to understand the intricacies of romance in the underworld."

Soko stopped scrubbing, listening to Toko move around in the bathroom. "I don't believe you," she said.

Toko only laughed. "You don't have to."


	6. Chapter 6

**Regarding the language of flowers: Different floriography dictionaries will give you different meanings for the same flowers, though there are some meanings that are the same across the board, so I have tried to be consistent by at least using only one dictionary for all of my meanings. Japanese floriography is called _hanakotoba _and does differ slightly from western floriography. **

**I also don't recommend sending flowers as a passive-aggressive way to say something mean to somebody. Only jerks like Xanxus do that.**

* * *

Soko slept in the morning following the hit on Giueseppe Marocco. Toko had offered to treat her to lunch since they hadn't gone for dinner before the job, but she'd declined. There was a chance she could run into Xanxus in town-it had already happened once-and she wasn't interested in doing that. She felt ridiculous, hiding from someone, but their last encounter had left her so angry and bitter and maybe even a little hurt that she thought she needed some time to cool off before she faced him again.

She got up, showered, and came out into the living room in a t-shirt and shorts, freezing when she saw Don Chiavarone there. She knew Toko like the man, but she wasn't ready for him to start invading their shared living space.

"What is he doing here?" she asked before she could stop herself. As soon as she realized the words had left her mouth, her eyes widened and she stammered an apology in Italian. "No. I did not mean...I did not expect to see you here, Don Chiavarone."

"It's okay," he said, smiling lightly. "We were just talking."

"Business?"

"Well, a bit."

The allied family's boss floundered for a suitable excuse and Toko stepped in. "A little business," she said, "But also personal matters."

Soko remained in the hallway. "Should I leave you two alone, then?"

"No, you're fine," he said, "This is your home. You don't need to accommodate me." She reluctantly came into the living room but passed them both at the table for the kitchen, unable to bring herself to sit with them. "We were just talking about your time as Belladonna," Don Chiavarone called, "How did you choose that name?"

"Ah," Soko said, searching the cupboards for a packet of tea. "It was Toko's idea."

"You inspired it," her partner insisted.

She scoffed. "Yes, through needless sentiment."

"She knows a lot about plants," she heard Toko say, and could the smile in her voice. "Belladonna is poisonous, of course, but it was also used in eye drops for women to dilate their pupils and appear more desirable, which is where the Italian _bella donna_ comes from."

"I was actually thinking about the belladonna lily at the time," Soko said, "The most important quality for an assassin is silence. It is the only flower I know of with that meaning."

"I only recently realized that she knows floriography," her partner added.

"Really?" Don Chiavarone asked, "That's interesting."

"And useless." Soko put a kettle of water on the stove and turned back to look at them both, looking as though they were conspiring over the table with their heads so close and their smiles so similar as they watched her. Don Chiavarone was a good fit for Toko, she though. He seemed kind and gentle, not very well suited for the underworld, either. She didn't doubt there was more to him than that. One did not retain the position of a don with smiles alone.

"Not at all. I know plenty of people who send flowers rather than letters."

Soko thought about just days earlier when Don Vongola sent them roses. It did seem that flowers would be a more discreet way of thanking someone for a hit than sending a card. "I suppose there are some," she said.

Don Chiavarone was about to say something else, but there was a soft chime and he checked his phone. "I'll have to remember that someone here speaks the language of flowers," he said with a smile as he stood from the table.

"Work?" Toko asked, getting to her feet as well, and he nodded.

"Yes. _Mi dispiace,_" he said. Soko watched her partner follow him to the door and exchange a few more words before she waved and closed it behind him.

"You're talkative today," Toko mused, coming back to sit at the table.

"It's refreshing to be in the company of tactful, sensible people." She prepared the tea, pulling a couple of small cups out of the cupboard for both of them. "Did he say anything interesting, or did you just gaze into each other's eyes and talk about good memories the entire time?"

"I don't know how you do it," her partner said, sitting up straight when Soko came to the table with the tea. "Every time you talk about romance, you manage to make it sound silly. And we did talk about other things. Political assassination is relatively uncommon as of late due to all of the major players securing protection from one group or another, and nobody wants to step on anyone else's toes."

"Except Don Vongola?"

"Don Vongola is too powerful to worry," Toko said, "Besides, popular opinion in the underworld is that Marocco needed to go anyway, and the job wasn't even pinned on the Vongola."

"So we did well."

"Don't we always?"

Soko sipped her tea. "So it's going to be like this, then? Belladonna merged with the Vongola?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No, it's just sinking in now. I don't really mind." She shrugged. "The name was silly, anyway."

Toko looked at her sympathetically. "No. It was a beautiful name." It was quiet for a moment as they both drank their tea before Soko broke the silence.

"I don't think I ever told you this," she said softly, "But the first time I posed as a prostitute was when I was sixteen." She paused a moment and closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. "I was taught by a girl who called herself Tsuki. It's terrible; that name is so popular with geisha girls." She took a long drink. "She was the same age as me, the _oyabun's_ favorite."

"She was only sixteen?" Toko asked quietly.

"Yes. She taught me everything I know now. I think I was the only girl her age she ever spoke to. I used to dream that we would run away together, leaving our lives and the yakuza behind. I don't know why I had those dreams; I wasn't really unhappy. Where would I have gone, anyway, and what would I have done? Tsuki and I knew no other lives; she sells her body, and I take lives. That is all we know how to do."

Her partner drank the last of her tea and set the empty cup to the side. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know," Soko admitted, "I think I want to be understood."

"I'm not the one you need to tell this to, then."

"I know." She sighed and took both cups back to the kitchen. "I know that."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set. Toko was seated at the table cleaning her gun and Soko was on the couch flipping through one of her partner's magazines, and they both startled to attention, hands reflexively on their weapons, when there was a knock on the door. Toko draped a washcloth over the parts on the table and went to answer it and Soko returned her attention to her reading material.

She saw Toko's eyes widen slightly out of the corner of her eyes when she opened the door as she greeted, "Good evening, _signore_."

"Is your partner home?" There was no mistaking the voice for anyone but Xanxus, and Soko was glad to be out of the line of sight of the doorway, holding the magazine just a little tighter. She glanced over the top of the pages at Toko, eyes pleading.

"Oh," Toko said, "Yes, but she isn't feeling well. I can take a message for her."

There was a pause. Soko wondered if he was going to barge in. After a moment, there was some rustling as something traded hands. "Give this to her for me."

"Of course." He must have left then, because without another word, Toko stepped back inside and shut the door with her elbow. She carried a fresh bouquet in her arms that she set down on the table and wandered into the kitchen to find shears to trim the ends and a vase to fit it into. "I'm sure you heard who that was," she said and Soko got off the couch and approached the flowers very slowly, as if fearing they'd lash out at her.

She peeled back the plastic to get a good look at the bundled flowers-carnations. She held them in her hands, staring, mind reeling.

"And just the other day, you were saying you didn't believe me about underworld romance," Toko teased, setting a vase on the table. "I've been learning the language of flowers, too, since you mentioned it. Carnations are a popular apology flower, aren't they? They also mean 'sweet and lovely.' This is quite a romantic way to make up."

Soko didn't say a word.

"Carnations are also Mother's Day flowers, right? I know they're popular in Japan. Oh, but Japanese flower language has some differences. I think some of the meanings aren't the same."

"Get rid of them."

"Hm?"

Soko dropped them on the table and went back to the couch, picking up the magazine. "Throw them out," she said firmly.

"What?" Toko glanced at her. "But why?"

"They're white and yellow. They're ways to express disdain or disappointment." Her hands started to shake. "He's calling me _trash_."

Toko stared down at the flowers, then back to Soko who hid her face behind the pages of the magazine, and eventually sighed and dumped them into the garbage.


	7. Chapter 7

It took almost a week of peace and quiet, no targets or reconnaissance, for Soko to finally start feeling ridiculous. She hadn't left the apartment since her near-altercation with Xanxus and the blow dealt to her pride was finally starting to bother her more than her irrational desire to avoid him at all costs. Hit men did not hide from each other; that's not how it worked. If there was a problem, they worked it out or one of them died. Simplicity, Soko reminded herself, that was her favorite part of her job.

It still took her an extra hour after waking up to convince herself that she should get ready to face the world, and another to work up the guts to call up Don Vongola and ask if he'd seen the cleaner lately.

"Xanxus?" he asked, sounding surprised, an _"Are you sure about this?"_ somewhere in his voice.

"Yes," she clarified impatiently.

"I'm not sure. He hasn't been needed for any missions lately, so he could be anywhere. If I had to guess, he's either at a bar or back at the Varia headquarters."

Soko didn't need to ask which bar, but she did ask for the address to the Varia headquarters, which Don Vongola reluctantly gave her, and she reflected on Xanxus' comment that the boss was a pushover. It was the oddest thing; there were some situations in which he was as deadly and demanding as a boss needed to be, but among his own men, he could be a complete doormat at times. She thanked him, hung up, put her gun in her purse, and headed out the door.

Toko had left earlier in the day on what had to be a date with Don Chiavarone, and thankfully he had driven, leaving the car with Soko. In all of their time as partners, Toko had expressed interest in several individuals but had never pursued any. Soko's initial apathy towards her partner's infatuation with the allied family's boss was slowly becoming worry, not that she would ever admit it. It was not worry for Toko, but worry for herself, and what she would do if Toko did manage to leave her life as a hit man behind.

But then, what would Toko do? Become a mafia woman? The don's wife? Soko couldn't see her fitting that role any better than she fit her current one, but if she could choose a path for herself as odd as a hit man, then she could no doubt retire into something that was twice as dangerous. And that would leave the other half of Belladonna alone. It wasn't that she'd never been alone before; Soko had worked for several years by herself before meeting Toko. But something about doing it again, now that she knew what it was like to have someone she could rely on-an ally, a confidant, someone who was more of a mother to her than anyone related by blood-that was what frightened her.

She pushed the thought from her mind. She had more important things to take care of first, most importantly this mess with a man who had the nerve to insult her in the language of flowers. Soko was well-versed in apologies; she was Japanese, she knew about twenty ways to apologize, and over half of those were when you didn't really mean it. And despite the image she was trying to uphold of a cold and distant hit man, she would be willing to meet Xanxus halfway but only if he made the effort, as well. He would have to apologize first.

Soko hadn't known Xanxus for long, but she knew him well enough by now to know that apologies were certainly not his strong suit.

She decided to check the mafia bar, Brindisi, first, and if he wasn't there, she'd move on to the address Don Vongola had given her. Finding a place to park downtown, she located the place again and walked in, glancing around at the people there.

Xanxus was seated at the bar and she steeled herself, walking slowly and watching for any sudden movements. She knew there was something a little twisted about approaching an apology like an assassination, but they were both hit men. There wasn't another way to do it.

Ill will is a potent thing; the other patrons seemed to notice that Soko was not interested in a drink and soon vacated the bar, leaving only her and the cleaner as she took the now open seat next to him. The bartender didn't bother coming over to take her order.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Xanxus said, taking a long gulp as he glanced to the side at her. Soko only frowned in response. He put the glass down and sneered at her, switching to her native tongue as he asked, "So you got the flowers?"

"Of course I did," she replied coolly, "But I decided I would be the adult between the two of us and try to make amends."

"That right?" Xanxus pushed his drink aside and turned to face Soko, who met his glare head-on. The tension in the room was becoming unbearable and those closest to the door started to leave.

"We got off to a bad start," she forged on despite her hunch that it would be hopeless, "You were under the impression that I enjoy the social aspects of my job, and I was under the impression that you were being an unreasonable asshole. One of us was wrong. I think we should move forward."

"I could care less if you like it, trash," Xanxus growled, and Soko's fingers twitched but she kept her hands out of her purse. "Nobody's making you do shit like that. If you choose to, that's a problem."

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but Belladonna is a two person team. One of us has to do it, and it's not going to be my partner."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I'm protecting her."

This was apparently not the answer he was expecting as he paused a moment. "From what? The job she chose?"

Soko was close to giving a biting reply when the sound of gunshots and shattering glass tore her attention away from Xanxus and to the windows at the front. The other patrons scattered, ducking under tables and into the corners of the room. Soko hopped the bar counter and crouched underneath, pulling her gun from her purse, and she heard Xanxus behind her readying his own weapon.

"How many'd you count?" he muttered.

"At least two at each window." Shots fired. The wood of the counter above them splintered. "I'm guessing there are quite a few more if they decided to attack a mafia bar."

"Rival family, probably." Xanxus looked to Soko and they came to a silent agreement, waiting a count before rising above their cover and taking aim, trading fire with the targets for only a couple seconds before crouching down again. "You're a good shot."

"So are you."

With a room full of allies, it took only a minute longer to regain control of the bar, and the remaining targets fled. Police arrived soon after, and Vongola's influence caused them to take a look around, ask no questions, and leave as quickly as they'd come. It was a nice change of pace from how things usually went when Soko had been ambushed in the past; fighting out of a building while outnumbered could be a miserable, nerve-wracking process, and while it never lasted more than half an hour, it always felt like forever.

Xanxus hopped back over the bar first and began to leave, and Soko followed him out the door. "We don't really get along," she said when they were outside, and he frowned.

"Don't feel special. I don't get along with anyone, least of all the people I work with."

She didn't know why, but she laughed. Xanxus didn't, of course.

"What, you think we're friends now or something?"

"No. But you know, back there, you could've shot me. You could've blamed it on the ambush."

He raised a brow. "Okay?"

He wasn't going to admit it, but Soko knew that was the closest thing to an apology she was going to get.

* * *

When Soko noticed Xanxus' car in her rear view mirror on her way home, she started to panic and wondered what he wanted but told herself to remain calm and cordial. She had a tendency to lose her temper with him, and the last thing she needed was to lose it in the apartment. Toko had worked hard to find them a place on the nicer end of town and the neighbors were convinced that they were two normal young women rather than guns for hire, and she hoped to keep it that way.

He followed her inside without a word and seated himself on the couch. Soko didn't really want to sit with him and didn't know what else to do, so she started boiling some water for tea. It was incredibly awkward, as neither of them spoke a word and Soko felt his eyes on her the entire time as she moved throughout the kitchen, opening and shutting drawers without actually taking anything out to distract herself. The kettle was just starting to whistle when he suddenly demanded to know why she became a hit man in the first place.

"Why?" she asked, and he didn't answer. "Because I was born into the yakuza. I was the _oyabun's _daughter." She poured two cups and brought him one, and before she could retreat back into the kitchen, he looked pointedly at her and then to the open cushion next to him in a slightly threatening manner.

"That doesn't mean anything," he said as she sat down, "Children of bosses are spoiled brats. You could've done anything. Why become a hit man?"

"Because he died." Soko counted the floating stalks in her tea. She could still feel Xanxus looking at her. "And then I wasn't the _oyabun's _daughter anymore, but just the daughter of one of the mistresses."

"And then what?" he pressed.

"And then the new _oyabun _gave me two choices, and I chose the gun over the brothel. But I was a young girl in the lower rungs of the organization; I couldn't escape it all the time. I was valuable when the officers needed a distraction; a woman's touch, my partner would say."

Xanxus didn't say anything for a while. Finally, he took a long sip of the tea and frowned at it, and Soko tried not to be offended. "Let me guess, your partner's a virgin?" Her affirmation was unnecessary, but she nodded all the same. "Wouldn't have guessed," he went on, "Between the two of you, you act like it more."

"What does a virgin act like?" she asked sarcastically. He didn't answer. When he finished his tea, he wordlessly handed the cup to her. Soko took them both to the sink and stood there for a moment, staring down into the metal basin and her warped reflection. "You know," she murmured, "When I was sixteen, I..."

Xanxus waited.

"Never mind."

He got up and walked towards the door then and Soko sighed in relief until she heard his footsteps coming into the kitchen. She turned to find him standing within arm's reach-uncomfortably close-with a scowl. "I'm going," he said, and then, "Are you going to stop avoiding me?"

She knew her face was flushed in embarrassment. When he smirked, it only made her angry. "I wasn't avoiding you."

"Really?" His smirk widened. "So if I said I expected to see you at Brindisi again tomorrow, you'd actually be there?"

"Yes." Soko didn't realize what he had actually said until he was turning to leave again and she suddenly became confused. "Wait, are you...?"

"If you're not there," he said, opening the door, "I'm going to come find you."

And then he was gone.

Soko stood there for a while longer, staring at the front door in disbelief. Was that an invitation? They'd been angry with each other for the past week, then watched each other's backs in a gun fight and were suddenly on good enough terms that he was arranging to meet with her. She thought about what Toko had said about intricate relationships but still didn't think this could possibly be normal. _Xanxus _couldn't possibly be normal.

But she thought, and couldn't help smiling to herself, that she didn't mind too much.


	8. Chapter 8

Soko hadn't been awake for more than a few minutes the next morning when she heard her partner in the next room, speaking in hushed tones. She got out of bed and drifted out into the living room, finding Toko seated at the couch, still in her pajamas with the phone to her ear. "We'll be there soon," she said and hung up, turning to face Soko. "Did I wake you?"

"No. Who was that?"

"Don Vongola. There's an odd situation that's come up." She didn't say more on it, insisting that they both get dressed quickly and head out for a meeting, so Soko waited as patiently as she could.

Don Vongola, Reborn and Xanxus were in the conference room when they arrived. Soko and Toko sat to the right of Don Vongola again, and he wasted no time on pleasantries, immediately moving to the meeting. "Someone has requested Belladonna for a job."

"But we pulled ourselves from underworld listings," Soko said uneasily.

Her partner pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Then it must be an old client, or someone who knows us by word of mouth."

Soko frowned at that. It had to be political or mafia-related; their only other clientele were jealous husbands and wives who suspected their significant others of cheating. They had no reason to hire assassins twice, nor did they ever tell anyone that they'd done so in the first place. There had been no shortage of those kinds of simple jobs before, but the sacrifice that came with the protection of the Vongola meant that they wouldn't be taking them ever again.

"The one who requested the hit is a Mr. Leon Albini," Reborn said, sliding a photograph of a young man across the table. "Nineteen years old, born into the Orsini famiglia. The Vongola have never had problems with them before. His request stated that he would discuss the target and the details only in person."

"What we're saying," Don Vongola cut in, sounding stressed, "Is that whether or not you take this job is your decision. It's not my business to restrict your clientele if they knew about you prior to your alliance with us."

Soko studied his face. "But you don't like something about this."

He grimaced. "Truthfully, I intended to send backup, or at the very least a lookout, on all of your jobs. Please don't think of it as mistrust or a lack of confidence; I simply take care of my people. But with non-mafia affairs, I won't be able to send you assistance. If something goes wrong, you'll be on your own."

Soko could have scoffed, but he looked high-strung enough as it was at the moment. "I think," she said, glancing to her partner, "That we'll be fine. It'll be just like old times."

"Yes," Toko agreed, "Thank you for your concern, Don Vongola, but we're willing to accept this job."

He nodded tensely and Reborn passed an index card down the table with an address and time printed neatly at the top. "This one's all yours," the hit man said, and Soko nodded appreciatively, taking the note card. She noticed then, as she and Toko were leaving, that Xanxus had again not said a word, much like their very first meeting, and she hoped all the progress they'd made hadn't been undone. If anything, he didn't look angry so much as tense, just as Don Vongola did. She had to hide her smile; it was nice to know he was concerned, and a little hilarious. She'd have to give him a hard time about it later just to see what scalding remark he'd come up with to hide it.

It would be just her luck if this was the job that got her killed.

* * *

The meeting place that Albini had given was a recently-abandoned industrial complex near the coast, white, angular towers sticking out through the trees. It wasn't necessarily uncommon for clients to refuse discussing the details of a request unless they got to speak with the gun they'd hired personally, though it happened much more frequently with younger clients or those who weren't as familiar with the underworld. Soko had heard others in her field grumble about it at least once, considering it a waste of their time when the client could have simply sent the information, though she had thought they were simply being careful. She figured Albini had probably never hired a hit man before.

Toko parked the car off to the side of the winding road that led through the forest and up to the industrial complex. Neither of them considered meeting like this to be part of the job, and Soko's partner remained pleasant and conversational as she took the gun from the glove compartment and began loading it. "It's sweet that the Don was worried," she said, and Soko noticed that she spoke in Japanese, a sign that she was not truly comfortable.

She eyed the thick foliage surrounding them warily. "It seemed he would have preferred for us not to take this job, but his only reason was that he wouldn't be able to help us."

"Maybe he had a bad feeling."

Soko could tell from her partner's tone that she was feeling it, too, then; the feeling that they were staring down their deaths. The problem was that she knew her partner was every bit as cautious as she was, and they always felt this way even when there was no danger. "Let's make an effort to come back alive," Toko muttered, beginning to walk down the trail.

Soko nodded and watched her back become smaller as she walked away. This was the how they maintained the illusion of being a one-man team; Toko handled these situations alone, and Soko could only wait anxiously for her to come back. Climbing back into the passenger seat, Soko checked her phone for the time. If her partner was gone for more than five minutes, she would know something was wrong.

A call from an unknown number lit up the screen and she promptly ignored it, but got a text message a moment later from the same number reading, "Answer your damn phone. It's Xanxus."

She couldn't help but smile at that, having a hard time imagining Xanxus texting. She wasn't sure how old he was, but she knew there were at least a few years between them. "Working right now," she replied, "How did you get this number?"

Eventually, a reply came. "Asked the Tenth for your contact information. Bullshit you're working, you wouldn't have time to answer if you were."

Losing patience, she quickly texted, "What do you want?" and again waited for a response. Before one came, however, the five minute mark passed and Soko had to take a minute to calm herself enough to think clearly before getting out of the car, her own gun readied, and made her way to the industrial complex under the cover of dense forestation.

Soko was worried; despite putting the precaution in place, she'd never had to act on it before. Meetings where clients told them who they had to kill and where to find them never took more than a minute. She could only think that they'd been set up somehow. Don Vongola had checked out Albini and he'd come up as clean as one could in the mafia, which meant that it had to be personal, a grudge against Belladonna. But she couldn't recall his name, or the Orsini, from any of her previous jobs.

She found the industrial complex and remained hidden among the trees as she examined the building for entrances. The loading docks were in front of her, and a small set of stairs led up to an unguarded door beside it. She moved around the perimeter silently, counting the entrances and memorizing their placement, but didn't see a single person outside. If no one was sent out to intercept her, then they were expecting her to come in of her own volition. She wondered if they knew there were two people in Belladonna.

She couldn't waste any more time; if Toko was still alive, she was probably being interrogated. To the side of the complex was a pair of faded green doors. The dirt around it hadn't been recently disturbed, though that didn't mean it wasn't being guarded from the inside. Soko took a deep breath, approached the doors and stood off to the side, gently tugging on the handle of the one closest one and pushing it open. There was no immediate reaction. She slipped inside, helping the door shut silently behind her, but froze at the touch of cold steel on the right side of her head.

"Hands up," she heard someone order in Italian, and swallowed, slowly doing as she was told. It was dark inside; light fixtures had been stripped from the building long ago, leaving them with nothing but the sunlight coming in through the broken windows high above them. The room was long, and she saw two armed guards at every door. It seemed she would've made the wrong choice no matter where she'd entered.

The other guard took her gun and she was shoved, the first man's weapon trained on her back, further into the room, instructed to walk slowly keeping her hands in the air. In the middle of the room stood Leon Albini, matching the photo Reborn had shown her, his men on all sides of him. She was brought close enough to him to see his frown clearly even in the poor lighting.

"So there are two of you," he mused, "You're hard to find anymore, you know. Your name used to be near the top of the listings, and then suddenly, it just disappeared. It didn't make sense. You're obviously not retired."

"Why couldn't I be retired?" Soko asked, but he didn't answer.

Instead, he turned away towards the darkness and asked, "This one has an accent. Is it her?"

Soko's heart stopped and she was overcome with bitter regret as another person came from the open doorway to a side room, their features becoming clearer as they approached. This one was a young woman, a girl, really, and she came to stand at Albini's side, examining Soko's face. "Yes, that's the voice I heard," she said, "I never saw her face. She held a gun to the back of my head and let me go without even looking at me. But she gave me her name."

"Don Bencivenni's daughter," Soko muttered, and bit back a yelp when the girl came forward to kick her in the stomach with enough force to make her double over.

"My name is Rita," she hissed, shoving Soko to the ground and producing a gun of her own aimed between her eyes. "And I'm not the Don's daughter anymore."

Soko fought with herself about thinking a dangerous thought, comparing the girl to her or feeling any sympathy, and it was more difficult than she wanted to admit. "What does the Orsini have to do with this?" she asked quietly, glancing behind Rita. There were six men standing by Albini, and she'd counted two at each of the eight entrances. Rather than carefully surveying the situation unnoticed or at least from behind cover, she was sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the room, and her partner was nowhere in sight. The odds weren't looking good.

Rita smiled thinly. "Leon is my boyfriend. We've been quiet about it, though, and that's paid off. If anyone knew about a connection between the Bencivenni and the Orsini, you might not have come."

"If you're going to kill me," Soko said, meeting the girl's eyes and smiling a bit at the way she started to shake, "Then do it. This is the way I've dreamed of dying."

"No. I'm not going to kill you yet." Rita backed off a bit, standing up straight, and Soko had just relaxed when the gun went off. She couldn't stop the cry that tore from her throat and her hands flew to her leg, fingers pressing against her torn pant leg, slick with blood. "I want answers first," she continued, and looked to Albini, who nodded and gestured to his men. Soko winced when she was dragged to her feet and herded into another room across the way from the one Rita had left. She couldn't see much when she looked over to it. But she thought she might have seen Toko's outline, motionless in a chair, for just a moment before the doors to her own room shut and left her in darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

"Who hired you to kill my father?"

Rita lead the interrogation herself with only two men in the room at the door. Soko might have once considered her overconfident, despite having been searched with her hands tied behind her back to the chair, because she had still put herself in a room with a trained assassin, but there was still only so much she could do. The men at the door had been instructed not to get involved, but she was certain that they'd protect Albini's girlfriend if it came down to it.

The air was humid and stale in the small room; sweat ran down her neck and she flexed her fingers behind her back. Rita was dressed in a heart print t-shirt and shorts and looked no different from any other girl Soko saw walking down the streets of Sicily. She hadn't had any involvement in organized crime before her father's death, or so they'd been lead to believe. Soko wondered if she had it in her to torture someone for information, though.

She found herself blindfolded when she didn't answer the first question, taking away what little vision she had of the room. She heard Rita walk around her, and then swore when she felt a hand dig into the bullet wound, gritting her teeth. "I'm still waiting," Rita reminded her, voice close to her ear, and she took a shuddering breath, crying out when the hand twisted. "You're not very careful," she went on, sounding further away, "Do you always leave someone alive? If you'd killed me when you had the chance, you wouldn't be in this situation."

"Wasn't the first time," Soko grunted. The hand withdrew from her wound and she gasped for breath.

"Oh? When else have you let someone live?"

"When I met my partner." Rita didn't say anything and Soko knew she'd surprised her. "If you want information, you're going to have to do better than this. I grew up in a family where mistakes got the ends of your fingers cut off."

"That must be a lie," Rita interrupted, "Because your hands look fine, and if letting me live wasn't a mistake, I don't know what is."

Admittedly, if she were still serving her father's organization, she probably would have been punished for sparing Toko four years ago, and again for letting Rita go. She felt a cold blade pressed against her chest through her shirt, not hard enough to draw blood, but shivered when the air hit her skin as her clothes were cut away.

"You have a lot of tattoos," Rita murmured, and she felt the girl's hand press against her shoulder. Soko knew every single line that ran from her shoulders to her hips, the waves and flames, the geisha, the festival fox mask and all of the flowers. She'd chosen them all herself on her sixteenth birthday, a rite of passage to mark her as a yakuza woman for the rest of her life. "They're beautiful. I like the big lily the best." The blade pressed into the middle of her back, right where the flower she mentioned was.

Soko smiled a bit to herself, bitterly, and waited. She felt the blade break the skin, trailing up her back and down again, tracing the same line, and then it suddenly went deeper and she shrieked. She wondered if she would bleed out before Rita got any of the answers she wanted. Suddenly, the blade retreated, and she felt Rita move away.

"You'll never guess what I just found," she said, and Soko heard the smile in the girl's voice, "You left your phone in your pocket."

She froze. She couldn't believe she'd been so careless. Xanxus' texts right before the five minutes ran up had distracted her so badly that she'd forgotten to leave it behind. There wasn't any incriminating evidence in her messages or call history, but she had Don Vongola and several of his people saved in her contacts, and Rita would likely put two and two together.

"Look, you even have a new message." There was a pause and she read over the words, sounding confused. "'I'm tired of waiting, trash.'"

As if on cue, gunfire sounded on the other side of the door and a panicked stampede of footsteps and shouting. Soko heard the door to the room open and the men guarding it rush out, and Rita moved to stand behind her, pressing the blade to her throat. "You had backup," she muttered, and if she wasn't being held captive, Soko would've argued that she was fairly certain she didn't.

The fight outside lasted only a minute longer before the doors were flung open again. "Trash," Soko heard, and she almost laughed, never so happy to hear someone address her in such a callous way.

"Step back," Rita ordered, pressing the blade tightly to the flesh of Soko's throat, "Put your weapons down." There was a yelp and Rita was suddenly no longer next to her. She heard the knife clutter to the floor before feeling the ropes binding her arms loosen and the blindfold was roughly tugged off of her eyes. Squinting, she saw that Xanxus wasn't alone; there were four others, three close to him and another standing to the side pinning Rita to the floor with a knife of his own held to her throat. There was one stuck halfway through her hand, likely what had caused her to drop hers. Anyone who could throw a knife with enough force to do that could only be a part of the Varia assassination squad.

"Boss," the one above Rita said, grinning widely, "Can I finish her off?"

"Wait," Soko called, shakily getting to her feet, and Xanxus looked to her for an explanation. "This is my fault," she said softly, "I let her go before." Understanding, Xanxus handed her a gun—hers, she realized with an appreciative smile—and stepped back. The Varia assassin looked disappointed but moved away as well, and Soko stood over Rita, flicking off the safety and taking careful aim.

The girl looked up at her, tears rolling down her cheeks and her eyes wide in fear, suddenly appearing her age. "You made a mistake," Soko told her softly, "You shouldn't have wasted time asking me questions. You should've just killed me when you had the chance."

"So now we've both made mistakes."

Soko nodded, murmured, "Yes," and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Toko suffered nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises, as Rita had been so fixated on Soko that she hadn't bothered to do anything but tie her up in the next room. Don Chiavarone apparently owned a hospital downtown, and Xanxus took her personally, draping his coat over her bleeding body. He told her—ordered her—over and over again not to lose consciousness, and she did her best to stay awake, her back burning and her head spinning.

She was rushed into the emergency room on arrival, and the next few hours blurred together, all red and white, machines beeping, sharp pain before the drugs kicked in. Soko remembered looking up at Toko's worried face. She might have seen Xanxus once, but was sure it was only her imagination.

The next time she was completely lucid was the following afternoon. Toko was slumped over in her chair, shoulders rising and falling with every breath, and Soko smiled. "Hey," she called hoarsely, "Toko. Wake up." She reached over to touch her arm and her partner jerked awake.

"Yu—!" her partner blurted, and stopped herself, red in embarrassment before she corrected, "Soko. You're okay."

"I'm sorry," she said, "That mess was my fault."

"It's fine." Toko leaned forward and took Soko's hands into her own. "We had no way of knowing. Don Bencivenni's daughter was a civilian; we were ordered not to kill her, remember?"

"Rita."

"Huh?"

Soko looked out the window at the blue, cloudless sky. "Her name was Rita."

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"How long until I can go home?"

"Not long," Toko assured her, "They said your leg should be fine, too." She paused, a smile slowly working its way onto her face as she noticed something. "I'll be right back." Soko was about to ask her where she was going, but when her gaze followed her to the door, she saw Xanxus standing there. After her partner was gone, he took her seat.

"I thought Don Vongola said—!"

"The Tenth isn't supposed to involve himself in non-Vongola hits," he cut her off, "But I am the ultimate authority on my squad's actions."

"So you chose to act independently." Soko almost laughed but held it in. "That kind of thing can get you in trouble, can't it?"

"Please," he sneered, "He was a worried mess after you two walked out. I received commendation for my decision, especially since it was necessary."

"What would have happened if it wasn't?" Soko asked curiously, "You would have stormed in, only to find we weren't there anymore."

"Your partner told us about your five minute rule."

That made her pause. "When?"

"You haven't noticed how she's all over the Chiavarone boss?"

"How much has she told him?"

Xanxus's brow rose. "Why does it matter? Unless you have some sensitive information that your allies aren't supposed to know? And I'm still waiting for a 'thank you,' ungrateful trash."

"That's not what I'm…." Soko rolled her eyes. "Thank you."

"Like you mean it."

"Are you kidding me?" His eyes narrowed. She looked down at her hands and murmured, in Japanese, "Thank you."

"The Tenth is pretty torn up about this, since it stemmed from his orders" he said, "So he's paying for a vacation for you and your partner to a hot spring resort in Hokkaido next week."

Soko smiled. "That's very generous of him."

"I'll be going, as well."

"What for? You didn't get shot in the leg or stabbed in the back."

"Neither did your partner," he said, "But I led the relief team. And more importantly, we were supposed to meet at Brindisi today."

Soko didn't say anything, heat slowly rising to her face. A meeting at a bar so they could fully overcome their differences and get to know each other was something she could handle, but a hot spring was far too intimate. They were skipping at least five steps, unless this was some other angle of mafia relationships that Toko had neglected to tell her about.

Xanxus noticed when her cheeks turned red and smirked. "What are you blushing about? I saw you naked yesterday, trash."

"Don't remind me," she muttered. She hadn't been thinking about it when she'd been full of adrenaline and wondering if she would even make it to the hospital.

Apparently, he had nothing more to say, because he stood from his seat and headed to the door with a warning for her "not to avoid him again," leaving Soko confused and thinking of her upcoming vacation in equal parts anticipation and dread.


	10. Chapter 10

Soko was discharged by the end of the week and spent most of the weekend with Toko hovering near her despite her protests. She'd been injured on jobs before, but never badly enough to necessitate a hospital stay, and was thankful that their connection with the Chiavarone had gotten her in and out without too many questions. That said, she drew the line when Don Chiavarone once again showed up at their doorstep and excused herself for some fresh air. She'd come to accept that his presence would likely be a constant as long as he and Toko were involved, and didn't dislike him, but she was always reminded of just how different she and her partner were when she saw them together.

She wouldn't call it jealousy. Longing, perhaps, for things she'd never had or known about. Toko seemed to understand and reluctantly let her go, but insisted she keep her phone on.

Soko didn't really know where she was going when she got into the car. She just drove for a while, rolling the window down on the country roads to enjoy the breeze and sunlight, when she was suddenly struck by curiosity. Xanxus knew where she lived, but she'd never been to the Varia headquarters before. Would dropping by unannounced make him angry? She wasn't sure, but she figured she had nothing better to do that day. Making her way back to town, she found a flower stand in the open air market and looked over the choices very carefully. When she'd made her decision and purchased a few white flowers, she gently set them in the passenger seat of the car and fished out the paper with the address.

The Varia headquarters was in an even more remote location than the Vongola estate but it was even harder to miss, looming out of the countryside with castle-like spires. Soko was surprised that there was only a cement wall between the road and the building, though there were a couple of men stationed outside who came to meet her.

"What's your business here?" one asked.

"I'm Belladonna," she introduced, and apparently didn't need to explain further because they nodded, one telling her he would park the car and the other escorting her inside. Soko took the bouquet out of the car and carried it with her through the front gates. It was noticeably cooler inside, and she glanced around, admiring the furnishings. The Varia headquarters nearly put the estate of their main family to shame, with marble floors and staircases and painted landscapes hung on the walls.

"You're here to see the boss, right?" the guard accompanying her asked, leading her up the steps to the second floor, "I don't think he's expecting you." It was a gentle warning.

"No, he isn't."

"His office is the last one on the left side of the hall," he said, gesturing to the right hallway, and she thanked him. She'd only just started walking when she heard hurried footsteps in her direction and turned to see one of the men who had been with Xanxus at the industrial complex. She'd been a little out of it at the time, but they all stood out so much that she knew she would recognize them. This one was tall with half of his shaved and the other half brightly colored, some sticking straight up. He was dressed in the same uniform and sunglasses he had worn then.

"Soko?" he asked, smile widening when she nodded. "It's good to see you looking better. The boss was worried sick, not that he would ever say as much. He extended one gloved hand. "Excuse me, I forgot we haven't been formally introduced. "I'm Lussuria." She shook his hand and he eyed the flowers she cradled with her arm. "Were you on your way to see the boss? I'm sorry, I shouldn't keep you."

"It's fine." She bowed. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Well, how sweet of you! Just the other day, the boss was grumbling about how hard it was to get a 'thank you' out of you."

Soko looked up. "What else has he said about me?" she asked carefully, and Lussuria laughed.

"He mostly sulks, really. Now and then, he'll complain. I'm not sure if you know how much of an accomplishment it is to actually hold a conversation with him-!"

"Are you done?"

Soko was startled, whirling around to face Xanxus, who had apparently left his office and was standing a few feet away. Lussuria laughed again, giving Soko a small wave and wishing her luck before running off in the opposite direction. Apparently satisfied, he turned around and began walking back to the open doors at the end of the hall, stopping once when he didn't hear her footsteps.

"Are you coming or not?"

She hurried after him, following him into the office, which was only slightly less extravagant than the rest of the building. There was a cushioned chair across from his desk and she set the flowers in front of him before taking a seat. Xanxus raised a brow at them, and then looked to Soko questioningly.

"You speak the language of flowers," she said, "Or at least one of your people does."

"It's the latter." He pushed the bouquet to the side of the desk, off of the papers they were laying on, but did so gently. "What do they mean?"

She frowned. "I'm not going to just tell you."

Any patience he'd had previously evaporated. "Is this all you came here to do?"

"I needed to get out for a while," Soko admitted, "Toko has Don Chiavarone over."

"And?"

She crossed her legs, hoping she didn't look as anxious as she felt. "And I wanted to give them time to themselves."

"Bullshit. You're here because seeing them together makes you uncomfortable."

"That's not true."

"Your partner told me that."

"I never said anything like that to her," Soko argued, incensed at the idea of Toko gossiping about her with their allies, but Xanxus shrugged.

"You've been working together for four years. She can probably read you well." He gestured to the flowers. "Are you really going to make me call Lussuria down here just so I can figure out what the hell you're trying to say?"

"No need, boss," came a sing-song voice from the slightly open doors behind Soko and she glanced over her shoulder. Lussuria opened the door the rest of the way, revealing himself and three others-Soko recognized all of them from the rescue operation-huddled just outside the office.

"Trash," Xanxus growled in a warning tone.

"We'll leave soon," one of the others said with a grin, the blond who had thrown a knife at Rita, "We just wanted to see the boss' woman."

Soko took a moment to process his words before she realized what he was saying and almost shot out of her chair. "What?"

"What kind of moron gives _flowers _to a mafia assassin?" another murmured.

"Hush, Levi, don't you remember Xanxus sent flowers first? She's replying, it's cute."

"Voi, is that really the same woman? She looks different."

"Of course she does, idiot. She wasn't wearing anything but blood and tattoos the last time we saw her, ushishishi~."

"Lussuria," Xanxus said, the finality of his voice stopping all conversation, "What do the flowers mean?"

"White violets," he sighed, "They mean, 'let's take a chance on happiness.'"

Soko covered her face with her hands, mortified. She wasn't supposed to be present for this part. The whole point of the flowers was so she could get her message across remotely. Sure, she'd hand-delivered them, but she was sure that Xanxus wasn't the only one who would know what they meant, and she hadn't though he'd demand to know right then and there.

"Do you need anything else, boss?" Lussuria asked sweetly, and when Soko glanced timidly up at him, she saw rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Get out of my office, all of you."

There was a chorus of, "Yes, boss," before the door's shut and, to Soko's horror, his attention returned to her. He looked a little bewildered, but mostly amused.

"Are you...propositioning me?"

"No," she blurted, wondering if she could dart out the doors, too. She couldn't even look at him anymore.

"Stop that," he ordered, "You're an assassin. Don't hide behind your hands like a brat just because you're embarrassed."

"I don't think you understand just how uncomfortable I am right now."

"Trash..."

"Will you stop calling me that?"

Xanxus paused only a second after her outburst before continuing, "The flowers were a joke, and you know that. I don't do indirect communication. If you have something you want to ask, then ask now, to my face."

And that, Soko knew, was not going to happen. So she asked something else. "How old are you?"

Xanxus looked like he was debating whether or not to throw her out. "You should really know better," but he still humored her, "Thirty-four." He waited.

"Not going to ask me?"

"No. You're younger, I know that much by looking at you."

The tension was building again. She could tell he was close to drawing his weapon, and honestly, so was she. The best course of action, she decided, would be to leave, and she slowly stood from her chair. Xanxus didn't stop her, but he kept his eyes locked with hers every step she took back towards the door until she slipped out, sneering, "coward."

Lussuria was waiting for her in the entryway. "How did it go?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for one of the guards nearby to fetch her car.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your confession, dear," he said, then frowned at her silence. "That wasn't what you were here to do?"

"I honestly don't know what I was here to do," she said, "But no, that didn't end up happening."

He still offered a smile. "There'll be other chances."

She wasn't sure she wanted another chance, but let out an uneasy, "thank you," for lack of anything better to say.

When her car was brought around, Soko returned his wave and headed out, glancing back at the Varia headquarters in her rearview mirror once before driving away. She didn't think there could possibly be a worse pair; her flaws and Xanxus' were of a similar nature, reclusive habits and mistrust, and she worried that the only relationship they'd create would inevitably become a train wreck. She envied Toko and whatever it is she had with Don Chiavarone, the way he'd slowly and gently entered their lives as opposed to how Xanxus had shoved himself into hers.

She doubted this had anything to do with complicated mafia relationships and everything to do with another thing she and Xanxus had in common-poor people skills.


End file.
